Chapter Four
Benson
Ohio
Benson glanced over at the young man curled up in the passenger seat, one leg tucked under the other, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his knee like he had music playing in his head.
Kyle. Just a backpack and a vague plan to get to California.
Benson couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life led someone to hitch a ride out of the city in the middle of a snowstorm like that.
He didn’t ask right away. They’d been driving for a couple of hours, the highway stretching out like a long sigh beneath the tires, and Kyle had been content watching the scenery blur past. But curiosity had a way of creeping in.
“So,” Benson said, keeping his voice easy, “you got any family anywhere? Or just chasing the sunshine?”
Kyle smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah. No family anywhere, really.” Kyle’s voice hardened, a subtle shift in tone as he leaned against the window, his gaze distant and fixed on something beyond Benson.
Benson raised an eyebrow. “None?”
Kyle shook his head. “My parents want nothing to do with me. Haven’t talked to them in years.”
That made Benson glance over again, this time longer.
Kyle didn’t look bitter, just resigned. Like he’d already made peace with it, or that was what he wanted Benson to believe.
He didn’t buy his story at all. At first he said he had no family, as if he had hatched out of a chicken egg, then when Benson pressured him, he made up a story.
“What happened?”
Kyle leaned his head back against the seat, eyes on the ceiling like he was watching old memories play out. “I was a dancer. In New York. They didn’t like that. Thought it was a waste. Thought I was a waste.”
Benson let out a low sigh. “That’s rough.”
“Yeah.” Kyle shrugged. “I grew up on the Jersey Shore. Loved it there. The Jersey Shore—the ocean, the boardwalk, all of it. But my parents made it hard to stick around. So I left. Went to the city to dance.”
“You trained there?”
Kyle grinned, a little proud. “Self-taught. Mostly. Picked up what I could from videos, street performances, whatever. I graduated from high school and did two years of college studying art. But I couldn’t afford it anymore. Supplies, tuition, it all added up. So I dropped out.”
Benson nodded slowly, letting that sink in. “And now you’re headed to California.”
Kyle looked out the window, his voice softer. “Figured I’d try something new. Maybe find a place where I fit.”
Benson said nothing for a minute. Just kept driving, the hum of the road filling the silence.
Kyle was cute, yeah, and friendly, too, but he needed something solid.
A direction. Benson wasn’t sure if California had that for him, but hell, maybe it was better than nowhere.
He knew one thing about Kyle: he was lying to him.
Was he afraid to tell his story or ashamed? He planned to find out.
“We’ll stop in Ohio tonight,” Benson said eventually. “Grab a motel, get some rest.”
Kyle nodded, then glanced over with a small smile. “Thanks for the ride. Seriously.”
Benson gave a half-smile back. “I’m not dumping you in Ohio in the middle of the night. You’ll stay with me. I’ll ask for two beds if that’s okay with you.”
“You’re not dumping me? I mean you don’t have to put me up in a motel room.”
“I like you, Kyle. I want to keep you safe and warm from the storm and yourself.”
“No one ever really wanted me to stick around. I’m only trouble.”
“You might be trouble, but I’m the kind of man who loves taking care of a young man in the middle of a serious crisis.”
“Do you think I’m in the middle of one?” He looked over at Benson with such apprehension in his expression. He knew that look, the look of pleading for help without the words.
Needing someone to help him.
Benson pulled the truck into the motel lot just as the snow started falling harder, fat flakes swirling under the glow of the parking lights.
The place was nothing fancy but a squat, L-shaped building with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign that read VACANCY.
But it was clean enough, and the lady at the front desk didn’t ask questions when he booked a room with two beds.
Kyle followed him across the lot, hunched into his jacket, boots crunching in the fresh snow.
He didn’t complain about the cold, just kept pace, quiet and thoughtful.
The snow stuck to his curls and Benson thought he looked like some kind of winter postcard except for the part where he was clearly exhausted.
The room was on the second floor, up a metal staircase that groaned under their weight.
Benson unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal a space that smelled faintly of bleach and old carpet.
Two beds, a little table, a TV bolted to the wall.
One of those motel comforters that looked warm but felt like paper.
Kyle dropped his backpack by the bed closest to the window and sat down, rubbing his hands together. Benson stood for a second, then patted his pockets like he’d forgotten something.
“Hang on,” he said. “Left something in the truck.”
He jogged back down the stairs, the snow already layering the windshield.
At the back of the truck, he lifted the tailgate and dug through the pile of wrapped presents—bright paper, bows, tags with names of kids he’d be seeing during Christmas week.
He found the one he’d set aside earlier, wrapped in blue with silver stars.
No tag. Just instinct. He climbed up the slippery steps and returned to the room, brushing snow off his shoulders, and held the gift out to Kyle.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, like it was no big deal.
Kyle blinked at it, like he wasn’t sure it was meant for him. “For me?”
“Yeah,” Benson said, nudging it toward him. “Go on.”
Kyle took it slowly, fingers brushing the paper like it might vanish.
He peeled back the wrapping with care, not tearing it, just unfolding it like something sacred.
Inside was a teddy bear dressed in soft blue overalls and a matching knit hat.
Its little stitched eyes looked up at him like it understood everything.
Kyle stared at it for a long moment, then held it close to his chest.
“I’ve never…” he started, then stopped. His voice was tight. “I’ve never had one of these.”
Benson sat on the edge of his bed, watching him. “Keep it close at night. Helps with the quiet.”
Kyle nodded, still holding the bear like it was something fragile. “Thank you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Benson didn’t press, but it was obvious something had gone sideways in Kyle’s childhood.
No gifts, no comfort, no one telling him it was okay to hold on to something soft.
Benson figured he didn’t need the details to understand the weight of that moment.
The snow kept falling outside, silent and steady. Inside, the room felt warmer somehow.
Kyle sat cross-legged on his bed, the teddy bear tucked against his chest like it had always belonged there.
Benson flipped through the channels on the TV, not really watching, just giving Kyle space to settle.
Eventually, he clicked it off. The room went quiet except for the hum of the heater and the occasional gust of wind rattling the window.
Kyle lay back, staring at the ceiling. “You do this a lot?” he asked.
Benson looked over. “What, pick up strays?”
Kyle gave a soft laugh. “No. The presents. The driving. The motel rooms.”
“Yeah,” Benson said, stretching out. “I make stops in a bunch of states, drop off toys at shelters, community centers. Places that need a little extra.”
Kyle turned his head toward him. “Why?”
Benson shrugged. “Started a few years back. Had a rough patch myself. Figured if I could make things a little easier for someone else, maybe it’d balance out.
” He wasn’t completely honest with Kyle, but most of it was true, with the exceptions of crossing the country during Christmas week.
He delivered presents locally each year.
Kyle was quiet for a moment. “That’s…really kind and generous of you.”
Benson waved it off. “Just something I do. Doesn’t fix everything, but it helps.”
Kyle shifted, pulling the bear closer. “I used to pretend I had stuff like this. A bear. A room that felt safe. Parents who gave a damn.”
Benson said nothing right away. He didn’t want to push. But Kyle kept going, voice low.
“They were strict. Cold. I tried to be what they wanted, but it never stuck. Dancing was the final straw. They said I was throwing my life away.”
“You weren’t,” Benson declared.
Kyle smiled, but it was sad. “I know that now. But back then, it felt like I was choosing between being loved and being myself.”
Benson sat up a little. “That’s a hell of a choice for a kid.”
Kyle nodded. “I picked me. And I lost them.”
Benson leaned back and arms behind his head. “You didn’t lose anything worth keeping if they couldn’t love you for who you are.”
Kyle looked over at him, eyes glassy but steady. “Thanks.”
Benson gave a small nod. “Get some sleep. We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”
Kyle curled up, the bear tucked under his chin. “Night, Benson.”
“Night.”
With the lights off the room settled into quiet. Benson lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about all the things Kyle hadn’t said and all the things he didn’t need to. Some stories were written in silence.
And tonight, at least, Kyle had a warm bed, a roof over his head, and something soft to hold on to.